


There's A Million Things I Haven't Done

by thepensword



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Beginnings, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Origin Story, Self-Indulgent, Slightly AU-ish, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, Young Avengers In The MCU, and i can't help it, anyway, because i love them, i did tag billy/teddy even though it's gonna be background, i didn't tag amerikate but it might show up, significant shift in writing quality after chapter four
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2018-09-28 03:12:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10067948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepensword/pseuds/thepensword
Summary: [...but just you wait.]Nick Fury wakes up with a bad taste in his mouth.Two hours later, downtown is on fire and he's watching a flying teenager flip a car with her bare hands as a skinny white-haired kid zips up to the camera and gives it a thumbs up."I'm going back to bed," says Nick Fury, and then he does just that.(aka the Young Avengers and their MCU origins.)





	1. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote most of this at 1 in the morning when I should have been sleeping whooooops.
> 
> This is a remarkably self-indulgent story that I started, even though I should really be finishing any of the four other stories I'm writing. I let myself get away with it, though, because this isn't a super in-depth, complicated story; it's going to be a series of connected drabbles that will eventually all come together.
> 
> Some of this is slightly AU. For example, where the MCU is at this point, I'm fairly certain Wanda does not actually have children. In this story, she had them young, and then...well, you'll see.
> 
> However, some of it is the same. For example, Clint Barton. I really, really hate what they did to him in AoU and usually I'd ignore that thing about him having a wife and kids, but I'm trying to keep this story as close to the movies as possible. Basically, it's how I'd write the characters in if I had control of the movies as they are right now.
> 
> The Young Avengers have au backstories because there's only so much I can bend. Sorry.
> 
> These stories take place at different times, and the characters are all of varying ages. This story will have more chapters, each cycling through the Young Avengers one by one. Rounds, if you will. This is just the first round.
> 
> Anyway, enough rambling. Enjoy!
> 
> Chapter warnings: kidnapping, bombing, minor character death

** Cassie **

 

Cassie loves her dad. She loves him a whole lot. Even when Mommy said he was a fallen man, and Paxton called him a good-for-nothing son-of-a-word-she’s-not-supposed-to-know when he didn’t think she was listening, she knew they were wrong. Her daddy is awesome.

One day Daddy shows up with an army of ants to save the day and Cassie just wants to jump around yelling “I knew it!”

Unfortunately, she is too busy trying not to get killed by the scary Yellowjacket guy.

(After everything is over, Cassie holds her daddy tight and whispers in his ear that she always knew he was awesome. He squeezes her and smiles.)

 

* * *

 

** Kate **

 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” growls Kate, dress bunched up in one hand as she storms through Central Park in the middle of the night.

Why is she storming through Central Park in the middle of the night? Because her dad sucks and she hates this place and she’s trying to make herself get over it.

Kate hears an ‘oomph’ sound and stops dead in her tracks, hands sweating and muscles tensing. She’s tough now; she can handle whatever creeps are lurking in the shadows, waiting to grab defenseless girls in purple party dresses—

—a blond guy in a purple t-shirt gets hurled across the path and lands in the bushes on the other side. He’s quickly followed by a dude in a tracksuit who storms after him, fists clenched.

“It’s okay, ma’am!” yells the blonde guy, sticking his head out of the bushes and spotting her. “I’m an Avenger!”

Then he gets punched in the face.

Kate shrugs and picks up the bow that the guy dropped on the path.

* * *

 

** Billy (and Tommy) **

 

The sky is falling. Dirt fills the air and coats his skin and fills his mouth and Billy is scared.

“Mama!” he screams, and then doubles over in a coughing fit so strong that it brings him to his knees. He blinks his eyes against the dust and cries out as a piece of flying rubble knicks his cheek.

There is the sound of an explosion in the distance, followed by another, and then another.

“Mama!” he cries again, but no one answers and the world is falling apart around him.

Somebody dashes up beside him and hands grasp his arms, pulling him upwards until he’s staring into his brother’s pale face, so close that their noses are almost bumping. “Tommy,” gasps Billy, tears dripping down his face.

Tommy’s crying too, but he’s trying to be brave about it. “Billy, we have to run,” he chokes out. “We can find Mama and Uncle Pietro after the bombs stop, but we have to go now!”

“Tommy, where are they?” sobs Billy, hands reaching out to clutch at his brother like a lifeline. “Why did they leave us?”

The sound of an explosion cuts off whatever Tommy was about to say, and then their ears are filled with the roaring whir of a helicopter. Billy’s grimy hair is in his eyes and his arms hurt from how hard Tommy’s squeezing them, but he’s pretty sure he’s squeezing Tommy’s hands just as hard and the connection is comforting so he doesn’t make any attempt to pull away.

The helicopter lands in a torn-up nearby parking lot and men in black combat uniforms pile out, faces masked and guns held at the ready. One of them points at the twins and shouts, and then the men are surging towards them and Tommy is tugging on Billy’s hand and they’re running—

They’re not fast enough. The men catch them in a matter of moments, and Tommy is pulled from Billy’s grasp.

Billy screams, tears dripping down his face, and everything shifts sideways, the rubble rising into the air and the wind swirling around him and—

A man hits him with the butt end of his gun and everything goes black.

 

* * *

 

** Teddy **

 

“Mom.”

She looks at him with sad eyes and squeezes his hand.”Teddy, I’m really, really sorry but I couldn’t keep lying to you about this.”

“Mom, no. You can’t—you’re my mom!”

“No, Teddy, I’m not. I raised you, but your mother was the princess of the Skrull, and you should have been our prince. But your father’s people the Kree came to take you from us and you needed to be safe, so I took you and hid you. I’m sorry.”

“That’s why we’re always running?”

She sighs, reaching out a trembling hand to touch his cheek. “Yes, Teddy, that’s why. But now...now the Kree are waging war on the universe. Ronan the Accuser is gone, but his army is not and they're out for blood, and when they finds out that you’re still alive, they'll come for you. They're  _already_ coming for you."

“Me?! Mom, I’m just—”

“Your real name is Dorrek VIII and you are the prince of both the Skrull and Kree empires. You are the only mutual link between two warring peoples, and one day you will fulfill your destiny as the Unifier.”

Teddy shakes his head violently. “No, I can’t. I...I’m just me! I’m just Teddy, and I’m just a kid, and you’re my mom! I don’t want—”

“Teddy, I’m sorry.”

There are shouts in the distance and his mother (not his mother) straightens abruptly. “They’re coming. Teddy, you have to run! Now!”

“What? You’re not coming with me?”

“I’ll hold them off, but you have to go _now!_ Remember what I told you! Stay out of sight, never use your true form, and be safe! Find—”

A laser whizzes through the air between them, barely missing Teddy’s nose. Mom grabs his arms and shoves him.

“Find the Guardians! I love you!”

There’s another blast and a scream and the air fills with the scent of charred flesh. “Mom!” yells Teddy, and then has to dodge a third blast.

“Get him!”

Teddy turns tail and _runs_.

 

* * *

 

** Eli **

 

There’s an expression that people use to describe puberty. They’ll say “puberty hit me like a ton of bricks” and they’ll laugh about it.

It’s not funny for Eli, because puberty really did hit him like a ton of bricks.

One day he’s normal. Maybe his voice cracks a little, maybe he gets some hair on his chin, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary. But one day he goes to sleep and he wakes up in pain.

Blinding, terrible pain. Everything pinching and stretching and aching.

Eli screams.

There’s a bang as the door flies open and hits the wall, and Grandma is standing at the doorway. She takes one look at him at yells for Grandpa.

Not five seconds later, Grandpa rushes in like a bulldozer and joins Grandma by the bed. Eli feels strong arms lifting him up and squeezing him against a broad chest, the steady beat of a heart in his ears.

That’s how they spend the night. Grandma whispering gentle, reassuring words and running her hands through his curls, and Grandpa holding him tight and not saying a word.

The next day, Eli gets to his feet, trembling from exhaustion, and walks to the mirror.

He’s huge.

Eli glances back at his grandparents. Grandma looks worried. Grandpa looks sad.

“What—” his voice comes out dry, cracking like a whip. Grandma silently hands him the glass of water that he keeps by his bedside. He takes a long, slow drink.

“What happened?”

Grandma and Grandpa share a look. Then they look back at him.

“Eli,” says Grandma. “I think it’s time we told you about your grandfather.”

 

* * *

 

** Noh-Varr **

 

It starts out like any normal day.

Ever since the Guardians destroyed Ronan the Accuser, the Kree have been sending out various new overlords to conquer various worlds as part of the empire, and Noh-Varr is one of them.  Sure, he’s young and inexperienced, and yeah, okay, maybe his heart isn’t totally in it, but the Kree don’t seem to care. He’s a fit, healthy, skilled warrior, so they send him to the Sol system with a fleet of soldiers and tell him to take Terra.

It doesn’t go quite as planned.

They’re conquering every world in their path on the way to Sol, but one of the worlds happens to get a distress beacon out and the Guardians just happen to receive it. The minute Noh-Varr lands his ship on Beta-Five, the Guardians swoop in with music blasting from their speakers and demand that Noh-Varr stop his crusade or face the consequences.

Noh-Varr says no and prepares for a fight.

And then Star-Lord challenges him to a duel. He says he wants to avoid unnecessary casualties. Noh-Varr’s soldiers urge him not to accept, but he does it anyway.

He walks out of his ship, guns loaded and ready, and finds out that this isn’t any ordinary duel.

It’s a dance-off.

Now, Noh-Varr’s not really sure what a dance-off is, but it sounds fairly harmless and it’s not even to the death. So he puts down his guns (to the dismay of the soldiers behind him) and prepares himself.

Star-Lord begins to dance.

After a few moments, Noh-Varr joins him.

They dance for hours. Noh-Varr’s heart fills with joy, beating along to the rhythm of the drums. He’s exhausted, and he can tell that Star-Lord’s exhausted, but they’re both smiling.

Finally they stop as Beta-Five’s sun sinks below the horizon. Star-Lord walks towards him and offers his hand. Noh-Varr takes it.

“This...dancing,” he says. “It is a human custom?”

Star-Lord shrugs. “Not just human, but that music was definitely Terran. Best music in the galaxy, if I do say so myself.”

“Hmm,” ponders Noh-Varr. “Maybe I won’t conquer Terra after all.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character ages and time placement:
> 
> Cassie—8 (during/after Ant-Man)  
> Kate—14 (after Age of Ultron)  
> Billy and Tommy—5 (right before Cap woke up in the First Avenger)  
> Teddy—11 (sometime around Spiderman)  
> Eli—10 (before the Winter Soldier)  
> Noh-Varr—16 (sometime around Spiderman, but after Teddy was introduced)  
> (EDIT: some of the ages were changed as of 4/19/17 because I realized I screwed up my timeline. Nothing major. Just tweaking a few things.)
> 
> Boy was that hard to figure out. Also, for the sake of Billy and Tommy, Wanda is slightly older than we're supposed to believe she is in the movies. As I am writing this, Elizabeth Olsen is 28, so that's the age we're giving Wanda in March 2017. Sue me.
> 
> Those of you with eagle eyes will notice that our favorite red-white-and-blue dimension traveler is missing. Don't worry, she'll show up eventually. Just not yet.
> 
> Drop a comment and tell me what you think!


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. So yeah, this got kind of long. Sorry? I know I said these were all gonna be interconnected drabbles, but now they're REALLY LONG interconnected drabbles. Oops.
> 
> Also, just because I posted this chapter so soon, don't expect the next one any time soon. My update schedule is ridiculously sporadic and I honestly have no idea when I'll write the next chapter. It could literally be anywhere from tomorrow to next year. (Probably not as dramatic as either of those, though. Probably.)
> 
> Trigger warning: Implied/referenced assault, medical experimentation without consent. Nothing graphic.

**Cassie**

Cassie likes to sit in the laboratory and watch Daddy work. She likes the way he hunches over, likes the happy, focused glint that comes into his eyes. His creases soften, his face seems younger, his shoulders relax as if he's dropped some heavy burden.

He gets like that a lot more than he used to; when he's working, when he looks at Hope, when Cassie says something smart and he smiles like he wants to scoop her up and swing her around until she screams with laughter. 

So Cassie spends a lot of time in the laboratory. Sometimes she sneaks down there by herself, just to sit among the gleaming tools and watch the ants crawl through the sand in their tank. It's peaceful down here.

One day she knocks over a vial of those particles that Hank invented. The glass shatters on the floor and the solution inside spills everywhere, gleaming and colorful across the floor, seeping into Cassie's shoes. She watches it, transfixed.

“Cassie?” calls a voice from upstairs, and Cassie registers that she's gonna be in trouble for this. In a panic she bends down and tries to scoop up the mess with her hands. A shard cuts into her thumb and red blood swells out, dripping onto the floor to mix with the blue of the solution. There's blue on her hands, too, and even as pain swells through her fingers, she watches the dichotomy of red and blue in fascination.

She hears footsteps, and then a gasp. “Cassie!” says Daddy, and then he's scooping her up and hurrying her over to the counter where they keep the first aid kit.

“Daddy,” says Cassie dreamily. “I want to be an ant-person too.”

* * *

 

**Kate**

When Kate was 13 years old, she was assaulted in Central Park. It is without a doubt the most traumatizing thing that’s ever happened to her. Afterwards, the cops were no help, and Dad didn’t understand. He was concerned, sure, but he never gave her the support she desperately needed. Instead he payed for a therapist and sent her to self-defense classes.

She already knew how to shoot a bow and arrow. She’d been doing archery in music camp since she first went at age 9. Her arms were already fairly muscular, but self-defense classes strengthened everything else. She felt like the string of her bow, taut and fierce. A weapon. A lot of her girls her age would be broken after going through what she went through, but Kate is tough. She refused to be broken.

She usually skipped therapy. Instead, she would go to Central Park and just stand outside of it, staring in at the grass and the trees, trying to forget what had happened to her and trying to remember her own strength.

That’s why she was in Central Park when she met Clint.

Clint is ridiculous. He’s human trash. He’s always covered in band-aids, he wears the same clothes three days straight, and sometimes he forgets to eat. But he’s also a spy. A superhero. A husband, a father.

Central Park is a huge part of her life. There, she lost a part of herself. But there she also gained a friend, a mentor, a brother. In a way, Clint is that part of her that she lost.

They go out for pizza after they first meet, after Kate uses his bow to chase off the tracksuit guy. He compliments her skills and offers to teach her some things. He hones her skills beyond what she thought was even possible, and she makes sure he’s fed and washed and occasionally pulls him out of dumpsters.

Sometimes he leaves. For missions, he says. And sometimes he’s telling the truth. Other times, she knows he’s lying, but she doesn’t push him.

One day, Clint sits down on the edge of the couch with a serious expression on his face.

“Kate,” he says. “I have something to tell you.”

“Okay,” is what she answers, and then she listens as he tells her everything. Some of it she already knew, like the fact that he used to be assassin and that he’s killed people, that he was brainwashed into killing his co-workers before the Battle of New York. Some of it is new, like how he grew up in the circus with his brother, how before that he lived in an abusive home, that SHIELD recruited him and cleaned him up. She learns where he goes when he’s not on a mission, listens to him tell about a farm and a wife and a daughter and a new baby on the way.

When he’s done, he makes her promise not to tell anyone, and she agrees right away. Then he pauses, looks at her. “Hey, Kate,” he begins. “Do you want to come meet my family?”

And Kate says yes.

* * *

 

**Billy**

Billy wakes up to darkness, so that at first he wonders if he’s even really awake.

Then the pain sets in. His head is pounding. His muscles ache. His shoulders burn from where they’re pulled behind him, and his wrists sting from cold, hard restraints.

He tries to speak, but his mouth won’t open. He registers metal on his face, wrapping around the base of his skull and cupping his skin from his jaw to his nose, so tight that it pinches. It’s hard to breath.

Tears spill from his eyes as he squirms in his restraints. He can’t move, he can’t speak, he can’t do anything.

Billy is trapped here, alone in the dark and the cold. He wants Mama. He wants Uncle Pietro.

He wants Tommy.

Footsteps pound somewhere outside of the darkness, and a door screeches open. Light floods into the room and stings his eyes, causing his head to pound harder.

“Okay,” says a man’s voice in a language that Billy thinks is probably English, and then there are hands grabbing at his arms, fingers digging painfully into his skin. “Take him to Lab 05.”

Then they’re moving. Billy is pulled along through metal hallways, lit with artificial light. People move around them, clad in black combat armor, guns holstered at every hip. They pass room after room, and Billy wants to see what’s in them, but he doesn’t dare move after the first time he craned his head around and received a sharp cuff across his ears in return. 

Well. He doesn’t dare until they pass a room with a glass window and he catches a glimpse of familiar white hair.

“Tommy,” he wants to gasp, but can’t, and then Tommy screams.

Billy thrashes, kicking out aggressively at his captors, trying desperately to get to Tommy. He has to get there. He needs his brother.

Inside the room, in between screams, Tommy looks up and catches his eyes. His mouth forms Billy’s name, and then Billy is being dragged away.

* * *

 

**Tommy**

Tommy is in pain. Blinding, devastating pain. The man in the labcoat has been poking him and prodding him and sticking him with needles since an hour ago when he first awakened.

At first he screams for Mama and Uncle Pietro. Then he screams for Billy.

After a while, he doesn’t bother screaming for anyone. He just screams.

Somewhere on the edges of his hearing he catches the sound of a scuffle outside the laboratory. In between breaths he looks out of the window, eyes frantically searching until they meet his brother’s gaze.

Billy doesn’t look good. He’s surrounded by men in combat uniforms, and the entire bottom of his face is gripped by a large, brutal-looking metal gag. 

Then Billy’s being dragged away and whatever Tommy was injected with is sending vicious pains down his legs. Tommy thrashes, head banging against the hard metal beneath it.

He screams again.

By the time the pain fades, Tommy is utterly exhausted. They unstrap him from the table and bind his hands roughly behind his back, then lead him on shaky legs back to his cell. He almost collapses on the way there, but arms hold him up and he’s dragged the few feet it takes for him to get his feet under himself again.

The door of the cell closes with a bang, and there’s the sound of a lock turning.

Tommy curls up in a ball as best he can with his hands restrained and cries. 

Sometime later (Tommy has no way to gauge time in here) Tommy hears the sound of another cell door slamming shut. It sounds like it’s right next to him, and he stiffens before crawling to the edge of his cell and pressing his ear against the cold metal of the wall. He listens intently and picks up the sound of crying in a voice that is very, very familiar.

Tommy knocks on the wall with his head and the crying stops.

“Billy!” Tommy calls lowly. “Is that you?”

There’s a pause, and then a shaky voice replies, “Tommy?”

Tommy slumps against the wall, relieved. “Are you okay?”

“N-no. Tommy they...they were messing with my head. They were messing with my  _ head _ .”

Oh, no. Tommy ignores the pain in his legs and focuses completely on his brother’s anguish. “Billy, it’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna get out of here.”

“How?”

“Mama will find us. And Uncle Pietro. They’ll get us out.”

Billy makes a strangled noise like he’s just swallowed back a sob. “What if they don’t?”

“Then we’ll break out. By ourselves.” Tommy doesn’t really believe it. They’re just kids, and they’re trapped in here. But he doesn’t want Billy to give up, so, “Like in Star Wars, when Luke comes to rescue them but they’re already escaping. The one with Londu.”

That gets a laugh out of Billy, albeit a small one watered with tears. “His name’s Lando.”

Tommy smiles. “Yeah, okay, Lando. We’ll be just like Lando.”

“We can’t both be Lando!”

“Fine. I’ll be Han. You can be...Princess Leia.”

“Toooommyyyyy,” protests Billy, and then they both fall quiet as the sound of footsteps pounds by in the hallway outside. It’s several moments before the sound fades, and by that point the mood has grown solemn again.

“Seriously though,” says Tommy after a while. “We’ll get out. I promise.”

* * *

 

**Teddy**

Teddy never asked to be a space prince. But being a space prince is what he got. And it’s nowhere near as cool as it should be.

Mom’s dead, and apparently she wasn’t even his real mom. He’s on the run from not one, but two powerful empires who are both up in arms about whether they want him to save them or whether they want to kill him. The Kree certainly seem inclined to the latter, and the Skrull are sort of leaning that way too. 

Teddy is nine years old. He doesn’t know how to fight. He’s a gay nerd with a passion for Terran comic books.

He’s not a ‘Unifier’. He’s not a warrior.

He’s a kid who wants his mom.

Mom died about nine rotations ago on the official cycle of the Nova Empire. He’s been running ever since. He shapeshifts so that his skin is purple instead of green. He makes himself bigger and stronger, but not too much bigger. Just so that he melds in with the rest of the crowd. He changes his hair to a deep blue, the color of the Centauri sky at night. He wears inconspicuous clothes. He hides. He roams. He charters ships where he can and stows away where he can’t, just small flights from planet to planet. He follows stories.

He follows the Guardians.

And one day, he finds them.

They’re in a bar. A noisy bar. He can hear the shouting from all the way down the street. The shouting and the blast of the music. 

Teddy swallows down his anxiety at entering a room full of drunk adults and slips quietly through the door, adding a few inches to his height as he does so.

The Guardians are not what he expected.

Rocket the racoon is perched on a bar stool, a line of shot glasses lined up on the bar in front of him. Drax the Destroyer is by his side, and they appear to be racing to see who can down the most drinks the fastest. Groot is a lot smaller than Teddy expected, and is swaying back and forth happily on Rocket’s shoulder. Gamora leans against a pool table, looking bored and nursing a tall, skinny glass full of some sort of pink liquid. 

And Star-Lord.

Star-Lord is dancing drunkenly, his moves sloppy and off-balance. He holds a huge tankard in his hand, brown liquid sloshing everywhere as he bobs uncoordinatedly to the music.

Teddy swallows. Hard.

He’s so dead. 

But Mom told him to find this team with her dying breath, and he doesn’t really have any other options at this point, so he timidly crosses the floor towards them.

In his head, he’d planned to walk up to them with his head tall, green skin fully displayed and chest forward. He would approach Star-Lord and tell him that he was the lost prince of the Kree and Skrull empires, and that he needed their help. They’d be impressed. They’d usher him aboard their ship and together they would topple the commanding fists of the Kree and the Skrull, and then they’d invite him to join their team.

This is already wrong. He is still purple. He is scared. And Star-Lord is really, really drunk.

He can’t approach Drax. He might get his arms ripped off. Rocket is known for being volatile, and there is a gun on his hip and he is also very drunk. Groot apparently doesn’t speak any real language, and he is too close to Rocket, anyway.

That leaves Gamora.

Gamora is intimidating.

Teddy takes a deep breath and walks up to her. She turns and looks at him, one eyebrow raised. “Something you want?”

“Um, yeah, I...I was wondering if you—”

She cuts him off with a wave of her hand and a terrifying glare. “Not interested.”

“No, no, you don’t understand. I’m not…” he looks around carefully, scanning for eavesdroppers, and prickling paranoia travels down his spine. Who knows who could be listening, ready to turn him in. “Um, can we...can I talk to you outside?”

Gamora narrows her eyes at him. “I just said I’m not interested.”

“Not like that!” Teddy manages to blurt out. “I mean...I. Um, I need your help.”

“With what?”

“Shh!” Teddy nervously glances around again. “I can’t...please, can we talk about this somewhere private?” At the look on her face he hurries to reassure her. “Not like that! Nothing like that. Please?”

Something softens in her expression. “Fine. Come on.” She sets down her drink and calls to her teammates that she’s leaving, then leads the way outside.

Gamora turns to him and folds her arms in front of her chest. “What,” she demands.

“Not here,” says Teddy, and pulls her towards the alleyway. Her eyes watch him dangerously, but she allows it. Once they’re there, alone and shrouded in shadow, Teddy allows his shifting to drop. His skin returns to its usual green, his hair to its natural blond. He shrinks to his normal size, so that now he’s peering up at her. Her expression has changed to curiosity and wariness, and her hand moves to rest on the sword sheathed at her side.

“My name’s Teddy Altman,” says Teddy. “And I’m being hunted. I need your help.”

* * *

 

**Eli**

When Eli was six years old, his dad left. 

Eli remembers it vividly, because there was a lot of shouting and doors slamming and things getting knocked over. He remembers hiding in his room with the door closed and his head underneath his pillow, waiting for things to go back to normal; Dad exhausted from work at the construction company, Mom stressed from her shift as a waitress, and both of them worried about the money.

But things didn’t go back to normal, because the door slammed one final time and Dad never came back. Eli remembers walking out of his room to find Mom crying at the kitchen table.

Everything changed after that. They never talked about Dad, and they both went by Mom’s maiden name, Bradley. For two years Mom worked double shifts at the diner and a third shift at the convenience store on the corner. Mom was tough, but she was also broken, and most of what Eli remembers from those two years is loneliness.

One day, Mom comes home from the diner and Eli’s in his room. He bends over his homework and pretends not to listen to her locking the door, putting her stuff down, and opening the fridge only to immediately close it again. The fridge is empty. Eli knows this because he finished the peanut butter for lunch.

There’s the sound of a chair scraping against the floorboards, and Eli knows she sitting at the table. She’s probably hunched over. Her head’s probably in her hands. She probably looks worn down and exhausted, and yet, as always, he knows that she looks beautiful.

Mom sits there for a long time and Eli stops pretending not to listen and turns to work on his homework. He stares at the list of Presidents he’s supposed to memorize and distantly wonders why all of them were white.

The chair scrapes again. Eli hears Mom dial something into the phone and then the sound of her talking. He’s not sure he wants to hear this conversation, so he focuses on the Presidents.

Footsteps pad softly down the hallway, and Eli feels sick. Mom’s coming towards his room and he’s pretty sure he already knows what she’s going to say to him. It’s been a long time coming, but the signs have been there, growing every day for the last two years, spreading with every new wrinkle that forms on Mom’s skin.

There’s a knock at the door. “Eli?” calls Mom, and then enters.

“Hey,” she says, moving to stand beside him, one hand reaching out to ruffle his curls. There’s something sad in her face.

_ Don’t say it _ , thinks Eli.  _ Please don’t say it. _

“Eli, come sit with me on the bed.” She sits on the edge of the Transformers-themed bedspread and pats the space beside her. Silently, Eli does as he’s bid.

“Mom?” he asks, his voice cracking.

She sighs, long and tired and broken. “Eli, you know I love you, right?”

He nods, his heart in his throat.

“And I always want what’s best for you. But...you’re always alone. You don’t have all the things I want you to be able to have. Sometimes, I can barely make sure you’re fed. And I’m never here for you like I should be.”

_ Don’t say it. _

“Eli. I think—”

“Mom. No. Please.”

She smiles at him sadly, eyes glistening with unshed tears, and wraps an arm around his shoulders, holding him tight.

“I want you to go live with your grandparents.”

It’s been a long time coming.

* * *

 

**Noh-Varr**

Noh-Varr probably should have figured this out earlier, but his superiors are not happy with his decision to abandon his crusade.

They’re not at all happy. 

They tell him to go to Terra and conquer it  _ right now or else,  _ but apparently there’s something wrong with Noh-Varr’s self-preservation instincts because he refuses.

His superiors are very, very angry. They say he must be punished for this behavior. They call him a coward and a traitor and much worse things.

Noh-Varr remembers the music and shrugs it off. Then he gets on his ship, the Marvel, and all by himself flies it after the Guardians.

It doesn’t take very long to find them. They’re not exactly subtle. Especially not since they took in Dorrek VII.

Huh. Dorrek VIII. Right. Noh-Varr had forgotten. Well, they are both traitors to the Kree empire at this point. Noh-Varr supposes they’ll get along pretty well.

The Guardians are docked at a space-port for repairs. Noh-Varr lands his ship in the space beside them. The raccoon is fiddling with something on the top of the ship, and when he sees the Marvel he yells for his friends. They come running from inside, gathering to stand before the Marvel with their weapons drawn.

Dorrek VIII is not with them. Noh-Varr thinks that it makes sense to not bring the Unifier out in the sightlines of an empire-class Kree fighter ship.

He’s not here to fight, though. He walks out of his ship with his hands at his side, guns still onboard. The Guardians watch him warily as he comes to a stop before them.

“Hey,” says Rocket. “Isn’t that the kid who beat Quill in the dance-off?”

“He didn’t—he didn’t  _ beat me _ ,” protests Star-Lord. “It was a tie! Anyway. Yes, that’s him.” The savior of the galaxy turns questioning eyes on Noh-Varr. “What are you doing here?”

“My name is Noh-Varr of the Kree,” says Noh-Varr calmly. “And I have heard that you are a team for misfits.”

* * *

 

**America**

Sometimes, America likes to wrap herself up in her cape and lie outside watching the stars. The sky in the Utopian Parallel is purple and blue and silver, dotted with tiny gleaming sparks that twinkle and dance like fireflies.

Sometimes America likes to lie there and imagine herself flying up into the stars. Like her moms do. Like she does in her dreams.

She can fly, of course. She doesn’t know who she’d be if she couldn’t. But she’s never flown that high, and something keeps her grounded. Maybe it’s the perfection of her life. The bliss that comes from living in a perfect family in a world made of dreams.

America inhales the scent of wet grass and pictures herself dancing among the stars.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there's America. Who knows when she's gonna next appear. I sure don't. I'm winging this, folks.
> 
> All of the ages are the same except:
> 
> Cassie — 9  
> Eli — 8  
> America — 5
> 
> Quick note concerning Eli.  
> So in the comics, racism plays a very large role in Eli and Isaiah's stories. I intend to reflect that in this story. However, I am white. I am also privileged and my family is well-off. If any of Eli's story comes off as offensive to those of you who are African American or who are financially disadvantaged, I am very, very sorry. And if this is the case, PLEASE TELL ME and I will immediately remedy it. 
> 
> Anyway.  
> Please drop a comment, even if it's just a simple sentence telling me what you thought. I love comments, and even the shortest ones make my day.  
> See you next time!


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst angst angst angst aaaaaangst.  
> This chapter is angsty.
> 
> The purpose of these first several chapters is to set up to the backstories of the YA characters so that they're ready to make a smooth entrance into the MCU. The problem is, some backstories are progressing faster than others. In light of this, I may need to drop certain characters from the story for a while. Characters like Cassie, because she's pretty much ready and my options at this point are pretty much fleshing out various aspects of her childhood and I'm not sure how much Ant-Man fluff I have in me. The comics I've read sort of skimmed over her backstory. Eli's too. And Kate's. They mostly just focused on Billy and Tommy.
> 
> Wait. That's what I'm doing.
> 
> Why is there backstory so confusing?
> 
> Anyway, what I'm getting at is that Cassie might disappear for a while, along with other characters like Eli and Noh-Varr. Kate's gonna stick around a little longer because she's not quite set up, and also because I could right Hawkeye interaction for DAYS. 
> 
> In fact, the truth of the matter is that the twins are taking a REALLY long time. I might take a chapter JUST to flesh out those two. 
> 
> So don't panic if a character disappears. I didn't forget them.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: more medical torture, discussion of murder, being trapped in a warzone.

**Cassie**

Sometimes, Cassie thinks there might be something different about her.

It’s nothing big. She can’t grow wings or turn invisible or breathe fire. All she knows is that sometimes she can reach the top shelf, and sometimes she can’t.

It’s weird, but Cassie passes it off as a fluke of her imagination. Somewhere in the back of her mind, though, the observation lingers.

Cassie is a chemist. Not professionally or anything, she’s only 10, but she finds chemistry just so interesting. Dad encourages it, tells her that he’s happy she’s interested in science and that maybe this way she’ll turn out better than her old man. She always laughs at that, tells him that’s ridiculous, because Dad is a superhero. What could be better than that?

But anyway, Cassie wants to be a chemist. And she wants to be a superhero. And she can only sometimes reach the top shelf.

She’s not stupid. Dad is  _ Ant-Man _ . He changes size on a regular basis. And she spends a lot of time around him. When she was little, she spent so much time in his lab, and, well, surely this has something to do with that.

So Cassie steals a vial of Pym particles and conducts her own experiments. Purely out of scientific curiosity, she tells herself. She wants to be a chemist, and so she’s trying to figure out how the Pym particles really work.

Sometimes her clothing doesn’t fit right. Her favorite sweater will be too small one day, too big the next.

It has to be her imagination.

Cassie keeps experimenting.

* * *

 

**Kate**

Clint Barton is an expert sharpshooter, a world-renowned super-spy, and an Avenger.

He also can’t make a good coffee to save his life.

“Clint,” says Kate exasperatedly.

“Katie?”

“ _ Clint.” _

“What?”

Kate brandishes her purple mug at his face. “What is this?”

He blinks at her, then blinks at the cup, then blinks at her again. “Um. Coffee?”

“No,  _ Barton.  _ This isn’t coffee.  _ This is motor oil. _ ”

Clint stares at her, mouth slightly agape and a wounded expression on his face. “Katie-Kate, I think you might be overreacting.”

Kate shakes her mug at him aggressively, murky brown liquid threatening to spill over the edges. “I am not overreacting. If I went downstairs and put this in our car, it would run for miles with no problem. This coffee could save the atmosphere and put the oil companies out of business for good. This coffee is a disgrace to the honorable legacy of the coffee bean.”

Clint pouts at her. “It’s not  _ that  _ bad.”

“Really.” She says it flat, sardonic, without a hint of question. “Alright, that’s it. We’re going downtown and we’re getting you a cup of good,  _ real  _ coffee.”

“But you’re supposed to be training—”

“ _ Coffee.” _

Lucky pricks an ear at them on the way out and then goes back to sleep.

(“This is actually...this is actually okay.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Mine’s still not that bad though.”

“Go die, Barton.”)

* * *

  
  
  


**Billy**

Billy’s not sure how long they’ve been in here. Days? Weeks? Months? All he knows is that his head is in constant pain, and sometimes he hears Tommy screaming in the next cell over. 

He hates it. He  _ hates it. He hates this place. _

Time passes in a blur. Billy doesn’t know who these people are, doesn’t understand what they’re doing to him, but he hears snatches of things sometimes. Half-phrases and linked words that mean nothing to him. Things like, “lab 09”, “subject 37”, “dormant x-gene”, “excellent progress”, “heil HYDRA”, “codename Wiccan”, “subject 38”, “telekinesis”, “mutant”.

He doesn’t understand, but he thinks maybe it has something to do with why his head hurts so much. 

Every day the soldiers come and they grab him out of his cell. Every day they drag him, kicking and screaming, to one of the many, many laboratories. And every single day they strap him to the table and the labcoat-clad men ‘experiment’ on him. 

Sometimes he blacks out. When that happens, he dreams of blue sparks and objects bouncing around like someone turned off the gravity.

Sometimes he dreams that he can see Tommy. That he can hear him. That even separated by distance, they are somehow strapped to the same table, feeling each other’s pain.

When they’re done with him, they drag him back and toss him into his cell, every cell hurting. Billy always lies there, in too much pain to move, until he hears Tommy’s voice from the next cell over. Then he always crawls over to the wall and sobs, face pressed into the cold metal and tears dripping down onto the floor.

Tommy tries to reassure him, but Billy knows he’s bluffing. His brother’s voice is hoarse from screaming, and sometimes when Billy really concentrates, he can feel a ghost of pain in his legs, pain that he somehow  _ knows  _ is Tommy’s.

“We’ll get out,” Tommy always whispers, and it’s always a bluff. “We’ll get out.”

And Billy always cries himself to sleep.

* * *

 

**Tommy**

It’s almost a year before things really start to change, and it’s another year before everything clicks and Tommy finally gets it.

One second he’s sprawled listlessly across the floor of his cell. The next, the dust motes in the air are slowing down and Tommy feels incredibly warm.

“Billy?” he calls, sitting up with a start. “Are you feeling this?”

There’s a long, terrible silence, where Tommy thinks maybe the labcoats came early for Billy and somehow he missed it. Then Billy answers.

“Wwwwhhhhhhaaaaaaaaattttttt?”

Billy sounds like a character from one of his dumb action movies, when the video slows down and captures the samurai (or whatever) flipping through the air in slow motion, water droplets cascading dramatically around him as he lets out a long, painfully drawn out yell. Billy’s response is exactly that, long and drawn out and stretched like taffy.

“Billy?” says Tommy warily. “Are you okay?”

“Toooooooooommmmmmmmyyyyyyyyy IIIIIIII ddddooooooooonnnn’tttt knnnnnooooooooowwwwww wwwwwhhaaaaaaaaatttt yyyyyyoooooooouuuuuuuuu’rrrrrrreee ssssssaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyiiiiiiiinnnnngggg.”

Tommy stands up carefully, using the wall for support and wincing at the pains that run through his legs when he puts weight on them. “Hang on, I’m trying something.”

“Wwwwhhhhhhaaaaaaaaattttttt?”

Tommy rolls his eyes and holds a hand in front of his face, flexing the fingers. “Okay,” he whispers. “Now go fast.”

He shakes his hand as fast as he can and whoa. That’s...that’s really fast.

“Huh,” says Tommy. “How fast?”

And then he runs.

He’s fast. He’s really, really fast. But it doesn’t feel like being fast; it feels like the rest of the world is crawling through molasses. It’s awful. Tommy has to concentrate to slow down enough for Billy to understand him, and he has to concentrate to understand what Billy’s trying to say to  _ him.  _ And the experiments they run now that he has this power? They’re worse, because now they take so much longer. He’s tied down for what feels like days and  _ god, it hurts. _

Three days in, Tommy blows up the door to his cell.

They catch him before he can escape; he’s too weak at this point to put up much of a fight. They take him down hard, and Billy’s shouts chase him down the hall as they slap shackles on his wrists and ankles and drag him to a new cell, where his legs still hurt and he’s still imprisoned, but now there’s weird lights and he can’t go fast and, most importantly, _ he’s alone. _

“We’ll escape,” Tommy whispers to himself in the dark one night, trying not to imagine what they’re doing to his brother even though he  _ knows  _ exactly what they’re doing (he can hear the screams in his head as if they were his own). He wraps himself up in his arms and chokes back tears and whispers it again, hoping that maybe, just maybe, Billy can hear him.

“I’ll get us out of here. I promise.”

 

* * *

 

**Teddy**

Gamora takes him to their ship and tells him to wait. She says that his story is compelling, but she won’t promise him anything without the full support of the other Guardians. Teddy understands, but he still hates waiting. 

“Why don’t you go to sleep?” asks Gamora when she comes to check on him two hours after she first left. “The rest of them aren’t going to be back until late, and they’ll probably be too drunk to be reasonable until morning anyway.”

Teddy blinks and looks downwards, worrying his lip between his teeth.

“You look exhausted.”

He shrugs.

“Is there something wrong?”

Teddy heaves a sigh and turns away. “I’m not tired.”

Gamora seems skeptical, but she lets it go anyway. Teddy climbs into one of the bunks and turns on his side so that he’s facing the wall, but he doesn’t sleep. Every time he closes his eyes he sees Mom dying. 

So Teddy stares at the wall and he waits. And somehow, without him meaning too, he falls asleep.

When he wakes up there’s a tree in his face.

Teddy lets out a startled cry and flails his arms, but he’s gotten himself tangled up in the blankets and he ends up plummeting to the floor. Heart still racing, he looks up to find himself surrounded by strangers.

No, not strangers.

The Guardians of the Galaxy.

“So Gamora says you need our help,” says Star-Lord, a friendly expression on his face as he bends down and extends a hand to help Teddy off the floor. He stays crouched even when Teddy is standing, dropping to one knee so that they’re eyes are level. “Mind telling us your story again?”

Teddy takes a deep breath.

And then he tells them.

When he’s done, they’re all staring at him. Gamora’s face is a mask of indifference, her lips just slightly pursed at the edges. Rocket’s arms are crossed, his hairy brow furrowed. Groot looks upset, and at some point attached himself to Teddy’s ankle in a tiny, twiggy hug. Drax looks devastated.

Star-Lord just looks sad.

“So…” says Teddy. “Um. Will you...will you help me?”

Star-Lord glances at each one of his teammates, some message in his eyes. One by one, they all nod back at him. He approaches Teddy, places one hand on his shoulder, and smiles.

“Welcome to the team, Teddy.”

* * *

 

**Eli**

It’s not a good day.

The city is breaking. Rubble flies everywhere. Dust fills the air.

There was no time to evacuate. No warning that this would happen. One moment, the day is like any other. Eli has a cold, so instead of going to school he’s wrapped in a blanket in front of the television, a bowl of soup in his hands. The next, the world shakes as a portal opens up in the sky above and aliens spill through.

Eli’s seen some pretty unbelievable things, lately. He’s heard rumours about his grandpa, about his uncle, about who they are and what they can do. He watched on the news as Tony Stark announced to the world that he is Iron Man and that he is not backing down. 

This. This is unbelievable. No, it’s worse than unbelievable. It’s insane.

Aliens.

Grandma and Grandpa come rushing into the living room, looking panicked. Grandpa scoops him up in his massive arms, Grandma throws the curtains closed, and together they rush to the master bedroom and into their shared walk-in closet.

“It’s okay,” whispers Grandma, and it’s not clear who she’s talking to. “It’s all gonna be okay.”

Grandpa pulls them both close and they stay there in the dark for an hour, listening to each other’s breathing.

When it’s finally over, they are silent and scared. Eli sits down in front of the television and watches the news.

“—by a new group of heroes being hailed as ‘The Avengers’, led by a man who appears to be none other than Captain America, the famous supersoldier from the 40s—”

Grandpa sits down beside him and turns off the tv.

“Eli,” he says, his voice a low, quiet rumble.

Eli leans against his shoulder, melting into the warmth of his body. “ _ You’re _ my hero, Grandpa,” he whispers.

Grandpa pulls him into a tight hug.

* * *

  
  


**Noh-Varr**

It takes them a really, really long time to trust him.

At first, they turn him away without a thought. But he follows them. From planet to planet, moon to moon, every rock they land on he is moments behind them. When they battle, he slips his way to fight by their sides without saying a word, and leaves when they tell him to. But always he is their shadow.

Things start to change. Sometimes he saves them. Sometimes they save him. Very little conversation is exchanged, but sometimes Peter Quill will shake his hand after a battle and hum a phrase from some Terran song. As time passes, Noh-Varr is allowed near their ship, allowed to sit by it with Peter’s music device tucked around his ears, dancing gently to the beat.

He never sees Dorrek VIII. He suspects it is for the hybrid’s sake that he is not yet truly accepted. If not for the danger he poses to the youngest of the crew, he would long since be a member of the team.

Then it happens.

The Guardians, except for Rocket and Groot, are in Bel-Torth, looking for jobs to take on. Rocket is making repairs on the ship, buried deep in its mechanical innards with Groot presumably nearby. Noh-Varr is sitting by the ship, listening to Peter’s device.

“— _ hooked on a feeling!”  _ croons Noh-Varr happily, shoulders swaying to the rhythm. “ _ High on—” _

“Um.”

Noh-Varr startles and rips the headphones from his ears, swiftly standing and whirling around only to find himself face to face with none other than Dorrek VIII.

“Oh,” says Noh-Varr intelligently. “Hello.”

Dorrek VIII is not what he was expecting. From his people’s tales, he had anticipated some great heroic warrior, or else some hideous half-breed abomination.

He is neither. He is, in fact, nothing but a boy. He’s shorter than Noh-Varr by about a foot, younger by several years. Shaggy blond hair falls into shy blue eyes, his skin pale but tinged just slightly with a hint of green.

Dorrek VIII shuffles his feet uncomfortably. “You’re Noh-Varr,” he says quietly. “They say...Peter says you’re nice.” He pauses, swallows. “He says you like music.”

Noh-Varr blinks. “I. I, yes. Indeed, I do like music. And I do try to be ‘nice’.”

“Gamora said that I should stay away from you until they’re absolutely sure you’re not here to kill me.”

“What?” This...this is shocking. Of course, Noh-Varr had heard that the Kree command had set a bounty for Dorrek VIII’s capture, but it hadn’t occurred to him that perhaps they want the boy dead. It makes sense, in a way. Not for the larger culture, but those in command at this time are all followers of Ronan, and they  _ want  _ war with the Skrull. Peace, in their minds, is for the weak.

And. The way Dorrek says it, with such complete conviction, like he really believes Noh-Varr might be here to kill him and that he’s  _ resigned  _ to it, like...like he expects it.

It’s wrong. Dorrek may be the Unifier, but he’s just a child.

Noh-Varr is suddenly very, very glad he left the Kree Empire.

“I am not here to kill you,” promises Noh-Varr gently. He wants to reach out with a hand, but he’s afraid that that could be construed as an attack. “I swear to you, I have parted with the Empire. I want nothing do with them anymore.”

Dorrek bites his lip. “I think I believe you.”

“May I ask?” begins Noh-Varr. “If you thought I might kill you, if Gamora had warned you against approaching me, why did you come?”

The boy looks downwards and raises his shoulders in a slight shrug. “I...I guess I just wondered…” he trails off, sounding embarrassed.

“What?”

“I wondered if you were all monsters or if you really were different.”

Monsters.

Noh-Varr inhales slowly. “I am not a monster any more than you are, Dorrek. Why would you believe such a thing?”

Dorrek closes his eyes and turns away. There is a long, tense pause where the air seems charged with electricity and Noh-Varr is prepared to let the subject drop before Dorrek speaks.

“Kree killed my mother.”

Noh-Varr breathes out a great puff of air. “I am so, so terribly sorry.”

Dorrek shrugs again, looking helpless. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. Dorrek, my people did an unspeakable thing to you, and I am so very sorry. I want you to understand that I want no part in any of their plans. I only wish to join the Guardians and help protect our universe from those who wish to do it harm. But if my presence is hurtful to you, I’ll leave. I promise.”

Silence.

Dorrek looks up at him through long lashes, blue eyes soft with swirling emotion.

“My name’s Teddy.”

Noh-Varr smiles.

* * *

 

**America**

One day, perfection is marred.

America remembers it clearly. One moment the sky is a beaming swirl of colors. The next, a dark patch appears, a tear wrought in the very fabric of reality.

America runs, her red cape flapping behind her. She runs to her moms, grabs Mami around the waist and cries into the fabric of her clothing. Mamá stands behind her, worriedly combing her fingers through America’s hair, and they stay like that until Mami manages to coax an answer out of her.

“What is it, love?” she murmurs, bending down to kiss America’s forehead.

“There’s a hole,” sobs America, frightened. “There’s a hole in the sky.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noh-Varr's section got really long. Also, I don't know how to write Noh-Varr. Yikes.
> 
> I've gotten like five comments so far that were basically "NOOOO WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO BILLY AND TOMMY POOR BABIES" and guys. I don't know. Billy is my favorite and Tommy is definitely up there. I don't know why I'm doing this to them. I, too, just want them to be happy.
> 
> Oh well. They'll be happy eventually.
> 
> Ages are the same except:  
> Cassie — 10  
> Kate — 15  
> Tommy (and Billy) — 6  
> Eli — 10
> 
> Drop me a comment!


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is my writing 50% dry humor and 50% angst? 
> 
> Teddy's portion took foreeeeveeeeer. And it feels awkward to me, but hopefully you all like it. And then I had to find a sad 80s song and I kept forgetting to ask my dad. I found one, though! It's not mine. I don't own it. It belongs to Journey. 
> 
> Warnings: medical experimentation/torture, referenced child abuse/neglect, strong-ish language, death.  
> (Wow, that makes it sound really dark. I swear it's not that dark. Literally nothing is graphic. Everything is referenced.)

**Cassie**

Cassie is watching the ants.

There are a lot of ants in Dad’s apartment. They don’t bite and they don’t eat the food. They’re just sort of...there. In all the little corners, in the backs of shelves, marching across the windowsills.

Cassie’s sure that most 13-year-olds would find that disconcerting, but she doesn’t mind. The ants are a fact of life. The sky is blue, the sun rises in the east, and Dad’s apartment is full of ants.

A small black one crawls across Cassie’s pencil.

She sighs and turns back to her homework.

* * *

 

**Kate**

“Kate?” says Clint one day. They’re on his couch, watching _Dog Cops._

“Mm?” Kate responds, not bothering to remove her eyes from the screen.

“I’ve been thinking.”

Uh-oh.

Kate grabs the remote and switches the TV off. Then she twists so that she can see Clint better. His expression is solemn; almost pensive.

This isn’t good. Kate doesn’t like this at all.

“The kids...my kids are getting older. Laura called this morning; apparently Nate spoke his first word. He said ‘mama’. And I missed it. I missed my son’s first word because I’m in New York playing hero.”

Kate is silent, but she thinks she knows where this is headed.

“And...I miss them, you know? I miss being a husband. Being a dad. And I know I have the Avengers and I have you, but the Avengers are fighting more often than not and you...I’m just keeping you back. You could be _great_. A superhero in your own right, or if you didn’t want that, you could be an entrepreneur, a businesswoman. You could do so much, be anything you wanted to be, if you weren’t lugging me around. I’m a strain on you, and I’m a strain on the team.”

“Clint…”

He puts up a hand, halting her words. “And I just want to go home. Look, I’ll always be here for you. I’ll visit New York occasionally, and you’re always welcome on the farm. But it’s time for me to go home.”

Kate feels frozen. She stares at him, unblinking, as the world shifts around her.

Lucky whines softly and puts his head on her knee.

“Katie?”

“What about the Avengers?” she finds herself asking, even though that’s not really what she wants to say. She wants to tell him how much he means to her, that he’s her brother and her anchor and the only reason she doesn’t need to see her therapist anymore. He’s the only home she’s ever had that really felt like home and when she’s around him she’s _safe_ and if he leaves—

“The Avengers will be fine,” says Clint as he reaches an arm behind himself. Kate registers through a haze that the object he’s now pressing into her hands is a bow. No, not _a_ bow. _His_ bow.

“Besides,” Clint smiles. “They’ll have a _new_ Hawkeye to take care of them.”

* * *

 

**Billy**

Billy's alone. He's been alone and in pain for a long time now and he just. He just wants it to _stop._ He wants to go home and have Mama sing to him and Uncle Pietro muss up his hair and he wants _Tommy_ to just be near him and drive him nuts with his constant chatter and he just _wants his brother._

Every day Billy wakes up from horrible nightmares, and every day he is dragged from his metal prison to be strapped down on a cold, hard table. Every day they attach electrodes to his forehead and stick needles into his flesh. Every day his head is filled with blinding light and he screams until he falls unconscious and.

_He just wants it to end. He wants to go home. He wants to forget._

And one day, something snaps.

Billy's hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat and his hands grasp at nothing from inside their restraints and he _screams_ and there's a bolt of lightning in his mind, bright and blinding and white-hot. Time stands still. Every thought comes rushing into his head, everything he's wished in the time since this began. _I want this to end. I want it to be over. I want to forget. I want the pain to go away._

And just like that, it does.

* * *

 

**Tommy**

Tommy's pretty normal.

Well, yeah, okay, maybe paper-white hair isn't exactly common. Maybe most kids don't have ADHD as bad as he has it, maybe the majority of his peers don't have dads like his, but people have abusive parents. People have ADHD. People have pale hair.

Really, he's normal.

But sometimes he has dreams.

The dreams aren't bad or anything, they're just...odd. In them, Tommy has a mom who cares about him and stands up for him when he's in trouble. He has an uncle with hair like his own. And at the forefront of every dream is a boy who looks just like him, if he had tan skin and chestnut eyes and chocolate hair.

In his dreams, Tommy is happy.

When he wakes up, Tommy always forgets. The dreams are a constant presence in the very back of his mind, but the details fade no matter how hard he tries to remember them. He's tried writing it down, but the pen moves frustratingly slowly across the page and by the time he's half-way through, the dream is already gone.

Sometimes he gets weird feelings. One time he's watching Star Wars, and when Lando appears onscreen for the first time, Tommy has the strangest urge to cry. Sometimes he'll find himself humming a tune under his breath, but when he starts to pay attention he can't remember where he learned it or what the words are. Sometimes the Avengers will do something cool on the news and he'll look over to the side and start to say something even though there's no one there.

It's not too unusual. It's just. Odd.

But Tommy is an ordinary kid. He really is.

At least, that's what he tells himself up until the day he accidentally blows up his school.

* * *

 

**Teddy**

The Guardians are hiding something from him.

They’re being really obvious about it, too. Well, not Gamora. She’s the best liar. And Rocket can be fairly sneaky, even though he’s loud.

But Drax is painfully honest. Peter can’t lie to save his life. Groot’s every emotion is projected across his wooden face.

They’re hiding something, and Teddy’s sick of it. He’s not a child anymore; whatever it is they’re so afraid to tell him, he can handle it.

So Teddy confronts them.

They’re in the Milano, flying through space with nothing around but the sky and the stars. It’s peaceful. It’s quiet. The air, though, is charged with secrets and it’s _infuriating_.

“Ok, what’s going on?” Teddy bursts when he can’t take it anymore.

They all turn to stare at him like he’s crazy and that just makes him madder.

“You’re all hiding something! And don’t try to pretend you’re not, because I’m _not_ stupid. I’m not a kid anymore! So _stop treating me like I’m some helpless child and tell me what’s going on!_ ”

There’s a silence. Teddy realizes that he’s breathing heavily and tries to calm down, but it’s really, really hard when they’re all _staring_ at him.

“Teddy,” says Peter softly. “We know you’re not a child, but you _are_ still young and there are some things that—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” says Teddy emphatically. “Just don’t.”

Gamora stands, her gaze intense. “Teddy, there are some things we can’t tell you. You just have to accept it. It’s to protect you.”

Teddy claws at his hair and tries not to scream.

“We've been discussing your future.”

The Guardians round on Noh-Varr, making various kinds of shushing noises. Unperturbed, he levels his gaze on Teddy.

“My future?” Teddy asks.

“Noh-Varr!” cries Peter. “No!”

“Peter, _please,_ ” begs Teddy. All eyes turn to their leader, who sighs and lets his head drop to rest in his hands.

“Fine,” he says at last. “Tell him.’

No one argues, although Gamora looks like she wants to. Noh-Varr steps forward and places a hand on each of Teddy’s shoulders, looking him dead in the eye before he speaks.

“You’re not safe here.”

Teddy starts to protest, but Noh-Varr holds up a hand. “The Kree and Skrull empires want you, and soon enough they’ll figure out where you are. When that happens, they will come for you. We will fight them, of course, but we are few whilst they are many.”

“We think you should go to Terra,” interjects Peter softly. “They’ll never think to look there. It has little to no contact with the rest of the galaxy. And it would a way for you to make friends, to live among people your age for once. It wouldn’t be forever, just for a short while, but you’d be safe. You wouldn’t have to hide on the ship anymore. You wouldn’t have to live in fear.”

Teddy’s heart falls down into his feet. “No,” he says, the word dropping like a lead weight. “No.”

“Teddy,” Peter begs in a half-formed attempt at consolation, but Teddy’s already slipping into a panic attack. This can’t be happening. This...this _can’t be happening_.

“No!” he shouts, chest heaving and face wet with tears. “No, please don’t make me leave!”

Groot tries to hug him and he flinches away because _no_. He’s already lost one family. He refuses to lose another.

“I won’t do it! I won’t leave!”

“Teddy, it won’t be forever,” whispers Noh-Varr sadly. “We’ll come back for you.”

“No! I’m sick of leaving! I left mom and she—” he can’t finish, instead sinking to the floor as his body is wracked with sobs.

He feels strong arms around him. Peter, probably, judging by the scent of leather. Then Groot hugs his knee. Noh-Varr hugs his back. Gamora, then Drax, then Rocket join the huddle.

Teddy cries for a long time, and the others cry with him and hold him in their arms and give him their love.

In the end, Teddy goes to earth.

But inside, he’ll always be a Guardian.

(And in truth, this is not the end. This is only the beginning.)

* * *

 

**Eli**

“Welcome to Starbucks, what’ll it be?” says Eli without looking up from where he’s restocking the napkins.

“Um,” says a man’s voice uncertainly. Then, presumably to a friend, “Sam, I’m confused.”

‘Sam’ laughs. “Too many options, big guy?”

“Yeah.”

“Yo barista-kid. You got any recommendations?”

Eli sighs and looks up from the napkins. His jaw drops. Standing in front of him is Captain America.

“Holy shit,” says Eli.

And then Captain America freaking _blushes_.

“Uh. Maybe I’ll just get a black coffee.”

“Holy _freaking shit_.”

The Captain’s friend, Sam, is watching this happen with his arms crossed and an amused smirk on his face. After the awkward silence stretches for a moment, though, he speaks. “I’ll get a venti latte. How much?”

Eli kicks himself mentally and drags himself out of it. “Uh, what size for the black coffee? Uh...sir.”

Captain America frowns up at the board. “Medium?”

“Any cream or sugar with that?”

“No thank you.”

Eli rings it up on the register. He reads out the amount and swipes Sam’s card for him. When he’s done with that, he turns around to find that Lori, his co-worker, has just been standing there gaping the entire time, so he steps on her foot and gestures aggressively at the coffee maker.

Five minutes later, Captain America and who Eli realizes must be the Falcon walk out of the Starbucks with their coffee in hand.

The entire store is silent as they watch the heroes go.

“Holy shit,” says Lori.

* * *

 

**Noh-Varr**

_Here we stand._

“ _—world’s apart_ ,” croons Noh-Varr in a near whisper. He’s sitting atop the Milano. He’s watching the stars.

They just left Teddy on Terra.

It’s funny, in that dry way that things that hurt are funny. He hadn’t known Teddy for very long, but the boy had found his way very, very quickly into Noh-Varr’s heart. They were the two youngest on the team, and the two newest. And as time went by, Teddy had stopped being Dorrek VIII and started being a sad, sensitive, caring child who had lost it all but still felt compassion. Somewhere along the way, he’d started feeling less like a legend and more like a friend.

More like a brother.

Noh-Varr’s tasted loss before, but never has it tasted so much like tears.

“... _though we touched and went our separate ways_ ,” murmurs Noh-Varr and keeps his eyes on the stars.

* * *

 

**America**

The world is saved and America’s moms are dead.

They’re _dead_.

Everyone assures her that they died to save the world, that they are heroes. But it doesn’t _matter_ . It doesn’t _matter_ how they died because they’re still _dead_.

So America runs. She finds one of the last remaining holes in the universe and jumps through it as it’s closing. The shimmering blue outline of a star gleams for a moment before it snaps shut, leaving the Utopian Parallel on one side and America on the other.

She lands on her knees on the pavement. It’s cold. It’s raining. America is alone.

She folds over and cries and cries and cries.

“Hey there,” calls someone after some time passes. She looks up slowly and finds herself face the face with an old man. He’s wet, like her, and ragged. His jacket is faded, his backpack worn. His beard looks like it hasn’t been trimmed in ages.

He is homeless, but America doesn’t know that. In the Utopian Parallel, everyone is happy and well-cared for. In the Utopian Parallel, homelessness doesn’t exist.

“Are you alright, dear?” asks the man gently. Laboriously he clambers down to sit cross-legged on the pavement in front of her.

America shakes her head but says nothing.

“What’s the matter?”

“They’re gone,” she sobs. “They’re _gone_.”

He nods sadly, as if he too has lost everything. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“Why would they _do_ that?” chokes America. “They said they’d come back but then they...they just...they’re _dead_.”

And saying it out loud just makes it real. America can’t take this. She can’t sit here. She has to move. She has to _go._ Where, she has no idea. She just needs to be _not here_.

She stands up abruptly. The man watches her through startled, worried eyes, but doesn’t move to stop her as she pulls back her foot and kicks a hole in the fabric of reality.

“Be careful, little one,” says the man.

America runs.

(She never really stops running.)

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have Dear Evan Hansen stuck in my head heeeeeeelp.
> 
> Ages are different for:  
> Cassie— 13  
> Kate— 16  
> Tommy— 6-14  
> Teddy— 14  
> Eli— 16  
> Noh-Varr—19  
> America— 6
> 
> Remember how I said some characters might disappear? Yeah, they ended up not disappearing and I've got everyone just about set up where I want them. You know what that means?  
> this is  
> THE END.  
> (of act one)  
> :)
> 
> Drop me a comment! No telling when the next chapter will be up.


	5. V.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long (long long long long) anticipated Act Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **i live bitches**
> 
> in all seriousness, i'm sorry about disappearing without any warning. interests are fluctuating and fickle. long story short i fell into anime hell but infinity war reinvigorated my superhero obsession at the same time as it shattered my heart into a bajillion pieces. christ. 
> 
> things to note! i dunno how long my interests will last but hopefully i'll get to finish this fic at some point eventually hopefully soonish. if i disappear again, well, you know why. the other thing is this: my writing has matured a LOT in the past year so don't freak out if this is different. (also i think i changed my username sometime over the last year so uh. yes i am the same person. hi, you can call me thepensword now.)
> 
> also i dunno where i was going with this back when i abandoned it so i'm kinda winging it sue me
> 
> hope it was worth the wait. enjoy.
> 
> Chapter Warning(s): mentions of bullying, implied child abuse, implied homophobia
> 
> **This chapter takes place 4 years after Infinity War but there are no spoilers for that as of yet**

**Cassie**

 

“—so if you have two oxygen molecules on this side, you have four total, right?”

“Right because oxygen defaults to O2. So there have to be two on this side. So it’s—” She scribbles furiously at her paper, the equation taking shape beneath the graphite of her pencil. “Like that?”

“There you go.” He grins at her and reaches out a calloused hand to muss up her hair, and Cassie beams. Then her eyes flick to the watch on his wrist and she frowns.

“Wait, don’t you have work?”

“Oh,” says Dad. “Shit. You’re right I gotta  _ go _ .” He grabs his keys off the kitchen counter and his jacket from the back of his chair and heads for the door, stopping only to press a quick kiss to the top of Cassie’s head. “Bye, love you.”

“Love you too, Dad!” calls Cassie over her shoulder, and then he’s out the door.

The garage opens and closes and Cassie hears the car pull out. Chewing the inside of her lip she stands and stretches, and then waits a minute to make sure Dad isn’t about to pull back in to grab something he forgot. When she’s pretty sure he’s past the point of turning around, she grabs the extra key from the back of a drawer and heads downstairs.

The basement is less of a basement and more of a lair. It holds equipment and experiments and, more importantly, superhero gear. It also houses a small training ring. It’s there that Cassie is headed now, already planning out her routine for the day.

She only does this when she’s home alone. If Dad knew, if Hope knew, even if Hank knew, she’s certain they’d disapprove.

But Cassie is a superhero, or at least she will be. She can’t help that it’s in her nature any more than Dad can help that it’s in his.

So she swings a punch at the training dummy and learns to be strong.

 

* * *

 

 

**Kate**

 

“Alright, Hawkeye,” whispers Kate. “Be cool. Cool as ice. Cool as— _ fuck.” _

Because being a Hawkeye always involves explosions, of the metaphorical or literal kind. This time, it’s kind of both.

“I am so dead.” Kate dodges a punch from a tracksuit—honestly, they’re like weeds, they just  _ won’t go away _ —and retaliates with a wild swing of her bow. It hits the man squarely across the face and he goes down hard.

“You alright, kid?” comes a voice and oh, yeah, that’s Tony Stark, fully suited up as Ironman and hovering just a few feet away. Kate leans heavily against the railing of the fire escape and makes a face at him.

“Where did you come from?”

“Just checking in. Seems like you needed help.”

Kate glances down; the rest of the tracksuits are all knocked out on the street below, restrained with shiny red Stark-brand handcuffs. “I had it handled,” she says, indignant, and maybe a little bit offended at the fact that maybe he’s a little bit right. 

He flies in closer and lands heavily on the grating beside her, metal clanging loudly against metal. “Who are they?”

“Tracksuit mafia. They were Clint’s but they never really went away, and now they’re my problem. Also I think Madam Masque might have hired them.”

The faceplate is still down but she can  _ feel  _ his eyebrow lift from behind it. “Madam Masque?”

“Nobody. Just forget it.”

Tony sighs loudly and this time the faceplate does flip up. “Look, Bishop,” he says. He’s got bags under his eyes—not unusual, but they seem deeper every day—and Kate can’t help but think suddenly that her heroes are getting old. “You’re doing good work with us. Clint trusts you so we do too, and that’s never proved to be a poor decision. But I’ve been thinking, and I talked this over with the others—maybe you should stay local for now.”

“What about saving the world?” asks Kate. “What about the larger scale?”

“You’re an archer, Kate.” Tony has never been this serious and Kate decides that she hates it. “Just a rich kid with a bow. Not a super-soldier, not even a trained spy and assassin. You’re not built for the large scale.”

Kate straightens, fingers wrapping so tightly around the railing that her knuckles go white. “And how’s that any different from you?” she retorts. “You’re just a rich guy in a suit!”

“We’re shipping out for Poland tomorrow,” says Tony, ignoring her, just like every adult in her life has done for as long as she can remember. (Every adult except for Clint.) “You’re staying here.”

“I’m an Avenger. You can’t just kick me out of team missions!”

“Yes,” says Tony, and the faceplate slams shut. “I can.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Billy**

 

Billy’s life is perfect.

Or, at least, it is perfect-adjacent. He’s happy, and loved, and his family’s well-off and accepting and he has everything he could ever need. And yeah, maybe he gets beat on at school a bit, but he gets decent grades and he has a fair amount of friends and sometimes when the captain of the football team smiles at him he can feel his soul ascend straight up through the mold-stained ceiling of Typical Public High School. 

That’s the perfect part. The adjacent part is that something always feels wrong.

It’s hard to explain, but sometimes he thinks he sees something out of the corner of his eye, or hears a whisper in his ear in a voice he almost recognizes. Sometimes when he’s pushed up against a locker and has insults spat at his face, he’s almost grateful because it feels like a memory. The first time he ever gets beat up he just lies there, back flat to the pavement, blood trickling sluggishly from his lip to stain his teeth red, and thinks,  _ this is familiar _ .

(The gratefulness goes away quickly. Pretty soon he just wishes everyone would leave him alone.)

So it’s just beside perfect. It’s perfect with a little too much salt or a little too much bitterness. And Billy really, really wishes he knew why, because it’s not the bullying that’s got him feeling this way. It’s not being closeted or slowly falling in love with the straightest, whitest, sportiest boy in the whole school.

It’s a feeling like he’s someone other than he is. Like his life is maybe a little bit a lie. 

(Sometimes he dreams of a boy with white hair and a name that he can never remember upon waking but that sounds a little bit like  _ brother. _ )

 

* * *

 

 

**Tommy**

 

He didn’t actually intend to break the law. It just sort of...happened. And now he’s sitting in the police station staring at his scuffed-up converse and listening to the officer call his parents and he knows he’s dead.

He only has a few options here:

Stay. (Wait for his father to pay the fine and then punish him later tonight. Take it quietly. Take it with a fight. Don’t take it at all.)

Run. (Keep running. Run from the law, from his parents, from his life that feels so horrible and incomplete and wrong. Run and run and become a little bit of a fugitive and a little bit of a coward.)

Fight. (And probably lose.)

Tommy sighs and does what he does best.

He starts running.

(This time, he doesn't make it very far.)

 

* * *

 

 

**Teddy**

 

Teddy almost resents how easy it is to fit into life on Terra.

Almost. 

At first, he’s bitter. He won’t talk to anyone, shuts all his doors and refuses to let anyone in. But he is, at his core, a sociable person, so that doesn’t last very long. Before he realizes he’s doing it, he’s joined clubs and made friends and built himself a life here on this planet that he now knows as Earth. 

He’s walking home now, home to the small apartment Quill had purchased using money of dubious sourcing. His backpack is slung over his shoulder, weighed down with textbooks and folders, and he is thinking of nothing very important at all. His mind is spun with formulas and histories and he is worn out from a day of school and he wants nothing more than to go home and collapse, but today is a workday so instead he heads straight for the coffee shop.

Eli is already at the register. He raises his hand in greeting but doesn’t say anything, focusing instead on the old woman confusedly ordering. Teddy ducks behind the counter and reaches for his apron and ballcap before moving to wash his hands in the sink.

“You’re late,” says Eli.

“There was construction on the way here. I had to go around.” 

Eli shrugs and gestures toward the coffee machine. “Well, better get moving. We’re about to hit crazy hour.”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Teddy as he takes the proffered plastic cup with the order scribbled on in sharpie. (The handwriting is terrible and the name grossly misspelled, and Teddy knows that Eli did this on purpose as some sort of karmic revenge against rude customers.)

So maybe this isn’t sailing across the galaxy with a group of alien misfits. Maybe when he looks out the window he sees trash cans instead of nebulas. Maybe it’s boring, maybe it’s routine, but it’s his now and that’s what matters.

“Grande matcha latte!” yells Teddy and places the drink on the counter.

The Guardians will come back eventually. All he can do now is live.

 

* * *

 

 

**Eli**

 

There’s been something off about the new guy since they hired him. 

He’s muscular and sweet and intelligent and positive. He gets along with his coworkers and the customers. He’s an all-around good guy. But sometimes he’ll stumble over his words halfway through a story. Sometimes, when asked about his past, he’ll freeze. Sometimes he’ll stare out the window as if he’s looking for something that just isn’t there.

Eli figures it isn’t his place to judge. And yet he cannot satiate his curiosity.

“Superheroes, huh?” he’ll lament into an all but empty cafe. “Bad for business.” And Teddy will nod and his expression will reveal nothing. But sometimes something as mundane as a comment on recent SpaceX developments will have Teddy freezing in place.

(It’s not...bad, just unusual. And Eli knows all about the unusual.)

“You should ask him out,” he comments one day. The dark-haired boy—the apparent object of Teddy’s affections—is leaving the coffee shop with a pink tinge to his cheeks and Eli just doesn’t have the patience for this type of bullshit romance trope. 

“What?” gasps Teddy. “No, I—”

Eli prepares his speech about seizing the moment and avoiding cliches (and it’s really a brilliant speech if he does say so himself) and it is that exact moment that the world around them crumbles with the impact of something massive in the street outside.

“Oh, shit,” says Eli. He glances sideways to check on Teddy only to find his coworker-maybe-friend already halfway out the door.

Eli calls on his strength and dashes after him.

(That’s the boiling point.)

 

* * *

 

 

**Noh-Varr**

 

Noh-Varr is sweaty and covered in grime and splatters of blood but he has never been happier.

“Swear it on something you love,” orders Gamora, and the Skrull Queen bows her head. There is defeat written across her shoulders, defeat warring with pride warring with exhaustion.

“For the good of the people,” she says. The Kree Emperor holds out a hand towards hers and shakes it firmly.

“For the good of the galaxy,” he corrects, and the look that passes between them is something like steel.

Rocket shifts subtly beside him and Noh-Varr glances up to where he rests on Groot’s shoulder. “Feels good, doesn’t it,” says Rocket quietly. “To see the end a centuries-old war.”

Noh-Varr nods and holds his history tightly around his heart. “No regrets, yes?”

“You bet.”

The war is over and it ripples across the galaxy. The Kree and the Skrull have been locked in combat for eons, a war that had ripped apart worlds and destroyed millions upon billions of lives. No corner of the galaxy went untouched and now it is over.

And Noh-Varr is so, so relieved. For multiple reasons. There’s the obvious, and then:

“We can go get him.”

“Yeah,” says Peter as he walks back towards them, grin spreading across his face. “We can.”

 

* * *

 

 

**America**

 

“You should settle down,” says Loki. “This many versions of you knocking around the multiverse isn’t so great for the fabric of reality.”

America rubs a hand over her eyes and resists the urge to punch him out of principal. “Why do you care, chico?”

“Just looking out for the good of the multiverse.”

“Sure you are,” says America. “Sure.”

Loki waves delicate hands through the air and pulls up a series of images; an interdimensional map of sorts, with a large blue star in the middle. “Here’s a nice one. You might find some friends there.”

“I’ve been,” says America. “Why that one? You know you’ll never be able to show  _ your  _ face there, so what do you hope to gain?”

Loki shrugs. She shifts before America’s eyes, hair growing long and smooth around her shoulders. “Maybe I just like having friends in as many places as possible.”

“Hm.” America stands and stretches, revelling in the pull of muscles and calling her power into a surging wave that travels through her veins with a tingling sensation of invulnerability. “It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do. But chica?”

“Yes?”

“I’m not your friend.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages for All Young Avengers:  
> Cassie— 15  
> Kate—21  
> Billy + Tommy— 16  
> Teddy — 16  
> Eli — 18  
> Noh-Varr — 21  
> America — 19   
> (Loki—???)
> 
> idk what i'm doing folks but i hope it's passable.
> 
> drop me a comment or...oh yeah i got a tumblr since you last saw me. you can find that [hereabouts.](https://thepensword.tumblr.com)
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
